


Victim

by DeanBean



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanBean/pseuds/DeanBean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sadstuck story to go along with the images in my head when I listen to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-UvyvpmMDHg">Victim by Avenged Sevenfold</a> I don't know when this song started making me think of the Strider brothers instead of the Rev...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victim

**Author's Note:**

> So the friend that usually looks through my stuff for grammar mistakes refuses to reread it and send it back... because of the sads... so I apologize for anything wrong with it now

_House full of roses, a letter on the stairs_

Oh. Look. Someone else had left something for you to eat. Another covered dish to add to your collection. Whoever it was left store-bought roses, too. A small silver card sticks out from the bushes of red. 

With a heavy sigh you bend over and scoop up the flowers and the still warm whatever-it-is. The funeral was a week ago. It’s over. You can take care of yourself and you don’t need anyone making you shitty dinners or sending you flowers that are just going to rot away. The apartment is packed full of shit already. 

Carefully, you maneuver both items into one arm and use the other to unlock the door, kicking it open and stepping through. It still makes you feel cold that you can’t call out to check if anyone’s home. Because no one is anymore. You use your heel to shut the door behind you and trudge to the kitchen counter to drop off the food. You sigh again and sit at the table, laying the roses on the old wood. Shaking fingers pluck the card out of the petals. _Sorry for your loss_. Yeah. That’s what everyone says. 

You push your fingers into your eyes, fighting any involuntary burning that may occur. You’re fucking sick of crying at the drop of a hat. He wouldn’t want that. In fact, he’d kick your ass if he knew you had been crying yourself to sleep every night for the last seven days. He’d kick your ass and then hug you and make you tell him what was wrong. But he’s not here to do that anymore.

_A tape full of messages for anyone who cares_

In the living room, the phone starts ringing. Only a few people know your landline number but you still don’t want to answer. You’re not in the mood for people. You won’t be for a very long time. After seven and a half rings, the machine kicks in. You listen as it goes through the instructions until the person calling speaks. 

“Dave. I know you’re listening right now and that you don’t want to talk-“ John’s voice floats to your ears. “But I just thought I’d give it a try. This has to be like, my fourteenth message now… Come see me sometime… We all miss him.” There’s a click when he hangs up and you can’t help but smirk. Yeah. Everyone misses your Bro. Everyone wants to give you their empathy and sympathy and advice but no one understands that you don’t fucking want it. No one knows how empty you feel. 

Your nose itches with a pitiful sniffle and you wipe at it with gloved hands. His gloves. You can’t bring yourself to take them off. With a scrape, the chair scoots across the cracked linoleum floor and lets you get up. You head for his room. 

You remember when you weren’t allowed in there but you came in anyway. He had a password on his computer and you knew it and he knew that you knew and he still didn’t change it. He sometimes found you sleeping in his bed when he worked late and he carried you back to your room. Somewhere along the line he’d let you just keep sleeping there, wrapping strong arms around you and falling asleep too. You’re heart nearly breaks again. As if it’d healed any in the first place. 

_Collage of broken words and stories full of tears_

After you’d heard the news… In disbelief and rage you’d smashed every single record you could find. You thought, back then, that somehow his senses would tingle like they usually did and he would storm in and tear you limb from limb. Him breaking you would be innumerable amounts better than him being the one broken. Broken beyond repair. 

The smashed vinyl is still scattered everywhere. Some pieces are even jutting out from the ceiling and walls where you’d thrown them so hard. You remember crying so hard that you threw up. You’d never cried that hard before. You’re crying now. Just leaks that can’t be stopped so you don’t try. You don’t get mad at yourself. You don’t want to remember. But you do.

_Remembering your life, ‘cause I wish that you were here_

It starts when you were just a baby and he took care of you. His rapping is your first memory ever. You can dimly see his face leaning over you as he softly spoke in rhythm. A smile tugs at his lips and he’s not wearing his shades. 

You crumple over, falling onto his bed and shaking with your head in your hands but you make yourself keep remembering. It’s almost like he’s here. 

He’s holding onto your seat the first time you ride a bike. He’s giving you CD’s for your birthday. He’s pushing you underwater in the bath tub. He’s brushing your teeth. He’s pushing you on a swing and teaching you how to hold a nerf sword properly. He’s dumping a pile of smuppets on your head and you’re screaming out of entertainment but you’re pretending it’s out of rage. He’s carting you and your friends around to play in various parks. He’s wrecking you and John’s perfectly built fort and he’s flicking popcorn at Jade and Rose in a boring kids movie he treated all of you to. 

As you get older the nerf sword turns into a practice katana. The bike’s training wheels come off and the smuppet attacks turn into throwing stars that you have to dodge on the way to the bathroom. He started leaving you to your own devices at around ten. You still spent time together. Eating, laughing, rapping, mixing music, joking, sword fighting and real brotherly fighting. Your friends like coming to your house the most because he lets you watch movies with lots of blood and nudity and bad language. You see him getting so pissed he didn’t talk to you for three days after you switched your pointy shades for the ones John gave you for your thirteenth birthday. 

It’s like life is flashing before your eyes. You watch your awkward teenage years full of fearing that people would find out you were gay. That he would find out and be disappointed somehow even though you knew he had just as many boys under his belt as girls. You tried pushing him away and he pushed back harder until you nearly sliced his stomach open on the roof. Then everything just seemed to spill out. And he was okay and you were okay and everything was okay again. But you didn’t tell him that the biggest crush you had was on him. 

Around age seventeen, you think he caught on. And the two of you had a long talk about what being together and being brothers at the same time meant. That people would think it was wrong and you’d have to keep it under wraps if it did happen. Your cheeks were red and his were red too. You’d never seen him blush before. It was cute. He gives you the total option to just ignore this and just ‘go fuck the Egbert kid.’ You kiss him first but you really don’t know how. He teaches you. 

_Nothing is harder than to wake up all alone_

You roll over onto your side and curl your legs up. Fingers find Lil Cal and you pull him over, crushing him to your chest with a suppressed sob. You hated this fucking thing. You really did hate it. It’s the creepiest fucking doll you’ve ever seen. But it smells like him and it was his favorite. So you cling to him like you would if he were here. 

A lot of firsts of your are due to him. First bike ride, first rated-R movie, first shot of liquor, first pull of cigarette smoke, first concert… First kiss, first shower with someone else, first time having sex. You shared a bed more than you slept apart and as each passing day went by you grew closer, even though that seemed impossible because you were inseparable anyway. 

The first night waking up cold and alone in the empty apartment almost had you downing an entire bottle of his special sleeping pills that kept him from having nightmares. You stared into the mirror for a full two hours, scowling and screaming at your red streaked face that looks like his. You broke some more things and when you were completely exhausted you settled for just taking one with the apple juice he’d bought you three days ago. You laid back down… and when you woke up again you just felt numb.

_Realize it's not okay, it's the end of all you've known_

He’d been there since day one. He’d been there every day, even though sometimes he worked late at a bar or went home with someone else. He always came back to you because he loved you and you knew he loved you. 

But now he’s six feet under freshly packed Earth and fake grass. Because some fucking drunk driver decided it was okay to merge into oncoming traffic. You fucking thank whatever is in control of life that it killed that bastard too. Otherwise you would have done it yourself. 

“Why-“ you start but your voice cracks. It cracks like a little fucking girl and you want to fucking shoot yourself. So you settle for screaming again. “ _Why did you have to leave me?_ ” you’re screaming into Cal’s soft material and crying and getting snot everywhere. You’d asked the same question to no one for the last week. And no one ever answers. 

_Time keeps passing by but it seems I'm frozen still_

You scream until everything is burning. Your throat, your nose, your eyes, your mind. And then you stop, letting more tears leak from closed eyes. It smells like him. If you forget that he’s gone you can let yourself think that he’ll come in at 3 am, still drunk from the bar. You’ll wake up to his gentle shakings, make love and then fall back to sleep in each other’s freshly exhausted arms. If only you can let yourself think that for a moment. 

Life needs to go on. He’s not here to help pay the rent and bills anymore and you need to get a better job. You need to clean up all the shit you broke and make yourself eat something because you’ve had nothing more than a few bites of a sandwich in the last week. But you can’t make yourself eat when he’s not able to eat ever again. 

“God damn it, Bro,” you mumble, shivering in the coolness of your evaporating tears. 

_Scars are left behind, but some too deep to feel_

You don’t know how much time passes but you eventually fall asleep. 

In your dreams, he’s still alive. You’re sitting in the messy living room and your head is in his lap. He’s concentrating on the TV screen where his character is fighting an ugly monster as his fingers fly over the controls he’s working so carefully. You always loved watching him concentrate. And when he win he liked to celebrate. 

You stare up at him and trace the sharp lines of his jaw with your eyes. This was back when he’d grown out his sideburns and a little beard thing was tufted on his chin. You’d shaved it off in his sleep because you didn’t like how it scratched. He’s punched you in the gut before you’d even woken up when he noticed. You miss that fucking beard now and even in your sleep you can feel yourself frowning. 

Soon the scene fades away and you’re left with nothing but the blackness of exhaustion and troubled sleep. You just hope you’ll start dreaming again. 

_Some say this can't be real, and I've lost my power to feel, tonight.  
We're all just victims of a crime  
When all is gone and can't be regained, we can't seem to shelter the pain inside  
We're all just victims of a crime_

The next day you force yourself to go out. The sun almost seems like it’s shining so bright to mock you. It’s bringing so much life to this planet… Like the life it’s giving to the grass growing over his grave. 

You try to block everything out, going to the store, checking in at your shitty burger flipping job to tell them that you’ll start working soon. You just… Need more time. It sounds so cheesy and wussy. But they understand. The grumpy old manager even gives you a hug. You tote the roses left by whoever in the back seat, dreading the last stop of the day. 

_Some days you'll find me in a place I like to go  
Ask questions to myself about the things I'll never know_

Now, instead of hurting when you pass by places the two of you favored, your heart aches when you see somewhere you’d planned going. Like to that new comedy showing in theatres. Like that one club you hadn’t gone to yet. You wonder if he would have liked the French Fries you forced yourself to choke down and you wonder if everything would be the same if he had survived the crash. You’re only twenty. He was only thirty-two. You had the entire rest of your lives to live together.

Now you have to do everything alone.

Subconsciously, you drive enroot to John’s big house. You pull into the driveway and just sit there until someone realizes your there. His dad taps on your window, breaking you from a daze you hadn’t realized you were in. You pop open the door. 

“Please-“ you cut him off before he can say anything affectionate or fatherly. “Please just… don’t say you’re sorry.” Out of everyone you know, he’s the most likely to understand what you’re going through. He’d lost his lover too. When John was born. 

He nods courteously and wraps you in a tight hug that smells like pipe tobacco and shaving cream. Bro had a huge crush on him for as long as you can remember. He always talked about how hot John’s old man was and joked that he’d leave you for him at the drop of a hat. Another sliver of your heart breaks away when he lets go. 

“John’s upstairs studying. But I’m sure he can take a break for you.” he says, leading you to the front door. You’re in zombie mode now. You can’t make yourself focus long enough to do simple tasks. If you were at home you’d just sit and stare at anything for hours. Anything blank that didn’t remind you of him. Which is hard because everything reminds you of him

_What's left to find? ‘Cause I need a little more_

The walk upstairs to John’s familiar room is a long one and when you get there he just wraps you in a crushing hug and pets your hair like he used to do. Tears fall. You can’t help them. Thank god you have your shades on. But you know he knows because you’re shaking and whimpering. 

You don’t speak. He doesn’t make a sound. He just holds you and lets you cry until you just… stop. Until the tears stop flowing. You sit on his bed and he tries to talk to you. He tries to tell you things you already know. _You have to move on. You’re killing yourself and he doesn’t want that. Acting like this won’t bring him back_. You know all this. You know he’s trying to help you. But you don’t need help. 

You’re empty. You’ll always be empty now. You wish someone would just tell you to get used to it. 

_I need a little time, can we even up the score?_

You sit and nod as John lectures you, patting your back and telling you how much everyone will miss him. But that everyone keeps him alive in their hearts. 

You know better. He’s dead. Cold and dead and he can’t ever touch you again and you can never touch him. You cry because you miss him and you wish he could just come back. Just for one night to let you know that he’ll be okay and that he misses you too. There’s a space in your chest where he belongs and without him you feel vacant. A light went out like a blown out candle and the wick is too wet with tears to ignite again. 

If there was one thing you wish you could do it would be to turn back time. Tell him not to go. Tell him to just skip work that day and just stay with you. You had an odd feeling at the pit of your stomach as he’d gotten out of bed that morning. You should have said something. He wouldn’t have taken you seriously anyway. 

You thank John. You tell him that you’ll try to get better. It was just hard. “I love you, dude.” He says, clapping your back in another hug before leading your downstairs and waving in the driveway as you drive off. There’s still one more stop you need to make. 

_Some say this can't be real, and I've lost my power to feel, tonight.  
We're all just victims of a crime  
When all is gone and can't be regained, we can't seem to shelter the pain inside  
We're all just victims of a crime_

The roses drop from your fingers into the designated holder next to the tall grey tombstone. There are a million others just like it surrounding you. Dead lovers, wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters… But this one is yours. Dirk Strider, the best Bro anyone could have, is etched in bold letters.

“This is the third set of roses I’ve gotten in seven days.” You murmur, dropping to your knees in the moist grass. “I know you love them so here. They look better here.” You fluff the flowers up a bit, spreading them out a different way in the container. He did love roses… a sucker for oldschool romance. For his thirtieth birthday you’d pulled the whole trail of roses thing… You made a path for him of petals to the bedroom. But instead of you laying naked in anticipation of his arrival, you’d left Cal ass up, facing the door. 

You’d never seen him laugh so hard. The corners of your mouth turn up and you actually don’t start crying this time. Maybe it’s because he’s actually here. 

_Nothing lasts forever for all good things, its true_

You spread yourself out on top of him, resting your cheek on the grass and knocking your shades askew. It’s almost like you’re touching him. Almost, but not really. You’d watched the men lower him into the ground and made yourself stay planted in your foldy chair because you had half the urge to jump in after him. You threw in the first handful of dirt and made sure that there was a good record, a smuppet and a pair of shades on his face before they closed the casket. 

At the viewing, they’d painted his face to make it seem like he was smirking. His freckles contrasted with the almost blue paleness of his skin. When you kissed his forehead there had been no pulse and that’s when you knew that everything was over. Because he’d always had a strong heart and a deep, radiating warmth. All you felt then was waxy coldness and you regret it because that’s all you’ll be able to remember. 

_I’d rather trade it all while somehow saving you_

He’d left behind an apartment full of collectables that you’d never bring yourself to sell. He’d filled your heart with love and your mind with undying affection. You’re still alive to keep the memory of him. But he’s still not here. 

He’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here and even if you’re laying right on top of him you can’t touch him. Even if you did he wouldn’t feel it. Maybe he’s an angel now and he’s smiling down at you. Maybe he’s a ghost. 

But you almost seem to feel someone sitting beside you playing with your hair as the tears start to fall. Salty, fat drops of water that would fall right on his face. 

Your voice shakes. “I’m pissed at you. No amount of puppy dog eyes or chocolate and caramel apples is going to ever get me to forgive you.” you smile. That’s what you always say when he messed up. Minor things like not taking the trash out or crashing a computer you’d worked hard to pay for. 

It’s like someone’s whispering his usual reply in your ear. “We’ll see about that.” 

_It must have been the season that threw us out of line_

If you close your eyes you can see him against the redness of the sun shining through your eyelids. He’s smiling at you and his eyes look sad. He reaches out to cup your cheek and you almost feel it. You place your own hand on your cheek instead. 

The sun is warm against the blackness of your tank top… his old shirt. You’re wearing his jeans too. And his cap is folded in your back pocket. You probably would have worn his underwear too if you didn’t know he would have thought that was completely gross. 

_Once I stood so tall, now I'm searching for a sign_

“This is killing me, Bro. It’s killing me and I don’t know what to do without you.” you mumble, blades of grass brushing you lips as they move to form the words. You tell him about the sleeping pills and imagine him turning underneath the Earth, trying to get at you and punch you. To call you stupid. You apologize. 

He’d say something about not having raised someone so weak. Others would think it to be an insult but not from Bro. Everything he told you was to help you. Ever. 

“I just wish you could tell me that you’re alright.” you sigh. Being here… Being this close to him is almost making you feel better. It’s as if someone is threading a string through the fragments of your heart and is starting to stitch it back up. Maybe when you get up, it’ll be all patched up. Maybe not. You really hope so… because while you’re laying here, fingers tracing the grass you almost feel alright again. 

_Don't need your salvation, with promises unkind. And all the speculations, save it for another time_

You keep talking to him. Retelling the memories that have been rushing through your mind all day. You picture him laughing at the funny parts and growing somber when a serious one comes up. He could be here next to you for real. You crave his touch. His rough fingers running over your arms as you talk. He liked it when you talk. And you only ever did much talking to him. 

_‘Cause we all need a reason, a reason just to stay_

Instead of broken, your heart feels sad. Just a tugging sadness instead of the crippling blankness that had been there before. Seven days felt like a decade and the rest of your life still seems like forever without your brother… but you’ll see him one day. One day you’ll be with him again. 

You might as well live while you wait. 

_And some just can’t be bothered to stick around another day_

You sit up, leaving your hands buried in the grass and digging them into the wet earth. 

“If you’re a ghost or some shit you better haunt the fuck out of me.” You warn him. “Knock shit off the walls and making spooky noises. Anything. Just don’t leave me completely alone.” Your voice cracks and you sniff. No tears come this time. You’re all cried out. He’ll be here. Right here and in your heart like John said. Maybe he was sort of right. 

You laugh. “Hey, possess Mr. Egbert so I can get to that ass before you ever could.” You picture the scandalized look he would give you and you laugh again. 

_Some say this can't be real, and I've lost my power to feel, tonight.  
We're all just victims of a crime  
When all is gone and can't be regained, we can't seem to shelter the pain inside  
We're all just victims of a crime  
Victims of a crime  
Living with this crime_

It’s almost dark when you make yourself get up from the grass. Your clothes are dirty and wet and damp in all the wrong places. But your heart doesn’t break again as you climb into your car. It’s trying too. It’s pulling hard on the patchwork holding it together, but it’s strong stuff. Strong like Bro. 

You’re hungry and you actually feel the soreness from lying on the hard packed ground. In the last week you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to feel anything but desolation and anger and chilling sadness. The leather of the cart seats feel warm. You smile. 

“ _I’m missing you_.” you whisper before reversing and pulling out of the graveyard parking lot with every intent on visiting if you ever feel the way you did again. You have a long ride ahead of you… but with Bro holding your heart intact you think you can manage.


End file.
